Poetry in Motion – You and Art


I have a friend who is an avid reader of poetry.  From time to time, he shares prose with me that inspire and move me.  I thought I’d share a couple here from these past few months…  Thanks, Mike for sharing your world…for sifting through the pebbles and rocks and finding the gems for people like me who lack attention, but welcome the inspiration.

The first section speaks most to me…

 

You And Art

Your exact errors make a music  that nobody hears.
Your straying feet find the great dance, walking alone.
And you live on a world where stumbling
always leads home.

Year after year fits over your face—
when there was youth, your talent was youth;
later, you find your way by touch
where moss redeems the stone;

and you discover where music begins
before it makes any sound,
far in the mountains where canyons go
still as the always-falling, ever-new flakes of snow.

—William Stafford

Entertaining Angels Unaware


This is perhaps a different twist on the scripture passage Mike Mather offered for my grandmother’s funeral, as I shared her gift of hospitality….to anyone, but particularly to those emigrating from Poland. She had spent years teaching emigrants English and US Citizenship under Rooselvelt’s administration.  (Hear her story firsthand  from her 95th birthday party!)

A natural extension of her work there was to open her home, with Pop-pop, to house, feed and nurture the body and soul of Polish people, given her fluency in her parents’ native tongue and her proud heritage. (Hear her talk about what it was like growing up in Philadelphia as a first generation Polish-American, including recounting the Lord’s Prayer in Polish.)

This week, within days of Mee-maw (Blanche) passing to the other side of the curtain, a friend found her first penny from Blanche.

Last night, I was watching Les Miserables with some dear friends, and felt my mom and Mee-maw’s presence. I bought one brooch for me (two masks/theater motif), one butterfly to match my mom’s silk jacket I wear and my tattoo…and wanted one more for Blanche.  (Well, for me to remember their life, love and legacy….)

I ended up buying an amethyst-colored brooch (one of her favorite stones) when L. (behind the counter at the gift shop) gave me three options…but as she pointed to one, she said accidentally…Blanche, instead of whatever word would have been normally to follow.  Wow….

L. had no way of knowing my grandmother’s Americanized version of her first name, Blanche…for Bronislaw. And I know Blanche was pointing for L., because L. shared later that she had lost her 45 year old daughter this year…to a heart attack. My 71 year old mom died in January…of a heart attack.Blanche's Brooch

If we listen to the Spirits or Angels or whatever term is comfortable for you…I believe they talk to us. Some in pennies, some through others, some in signs.

Our Angels want us to know that they are ok…and that we can grieve, but move on and live life to the fullest. They are smiling down, dancing and laughing with us.

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Questions to the Sick II: When is the last time you danced?


A daily devotional I use by Mark Nepo introduced me to a series of questions Native America medicine men ask of the sick: When was the last time you sang? When was the last time you danced? When was the last time you told your story? These questions would be put to the sick and dying by the tribe’s medicine man. In my recovery journey, I’m learning it’s just as important to ask these questions of the living. (http://www.marknepo.com/books_theexquisite.php)

Question II popped up again this week as I cycle through the book a second time, so I’ve been more aware of this lesson. And, I can actually think of two recent contrasting experiences that taught me an even deeper lesson.

Last month, I was at an outdoor concert of Jennie DeVoe, a regional musician whose work has been a discovered gift since I started this journey. There in the open venue, I jumped up, stood by our table and let myself go — dancing and swaying to one of my favorite songs from my muse. I let the joyful release of the music flow through me, unphased by what others might think of me.

Last night, I was at another outdoor venue, listening to a live broadcast of Garrison Keillor’s Prairie Home Companion. His storytelling and weekly radio broadcast have been a part of my story since I was in my twenties. But, in my final years of active addiction, my Higher Power used several broadcasts in particular to speak to my broken spirit. I knew then I’d be ok even if I didn’t know when and how. So, one of my bucket list items was to see him broadcast live. With that context, again, it’s no surprise I felt the same joyful release well up inside me. I SO wanted to jump up and dance — but I held back. It was still an amazing performance, with laughter and tears and healing. But, I wasn’t able to live as authentically as I wanted.

As I reflected today on the way I chose to react so differently during those two cathartic situations, I asked myself — why? I realized the level of safety created by the company I was with was a key factor.

I’m human, and know that much of my life has been driven by fear and shame. In one situation, I knew I would be understood and my joy celebrated. In the other, I feared ridicule and shame.

What a difference the company we choose can make. And today, I do have choices. It doesn’t make one set of people “good” and one “bad.” But, it does mean I can make choices to be around that which celebrates living authentically and openly. And being able to make those choices doesn’t make me better than. It simply is what I choose to do.

Of course, I hope that in the future, I’m able to let go regardless…unphased by the reaction of others, driven instead by the deep connectedness I’m having at that moment with the music, my feelings, my true self…and the universe.

But, this is a journey – I strive for progress, not perfection.

Today, I’m simply grateful for the awareness and growth.